Flight
by snarkmcsnark
Summary: Flight (n.) 1. The act of fleeing. The year is 2018, seven years since the departure of Elliot Stabler from Olivia Benson's life. 2. The act of flying. A chance encounter on a redeye flight from LAX to JFK forces truths to rise from the wreckage.


**AN:** _Hello. I'm steering away from my usual cast of characters and writing EO/Bensler/Stabson/UnfulfilledSexualTension. You have tumblr Secret Santa's fic exchange to thank for that. Anyway, this is for **EnjoyYourTripIntoMyThoughts** , who goes by the name fallingfortheprohibited in tumblr. Merry Christmas! I went with the prompt: **"You might think I forgot, (name), but I'll always remember the sensation of your lips being locked with mine."** I did, however, take some liberties with that line because I couldn't picture either one of those characters saying something so flowery like that. But enough rambling..._

 _Don't forget to let me know what you think._

* * *

 **Flight**

* * *

California's prayers are answered as torrential rain spills from the sky. Droplets cling to the small porthole windows, obscuring the view outside. It doesn't matter anyway; there's nothing to see. It's late in the evening and the tarmac appears to him as nothing more than a stretch of black dotted with blinking orange lights.

Elliot averts his attention back to the cabin of the plane – a Boeing 717 with four seats in each aisle. The company logo is embroidered on the navy blue fabric seats, safety cards tucked in the pockets behind each chair. As he waits for the final passengers to board, he flips through the in-flight magazine and stops at a feature on kitchen appliances. For an obscene amount of points, he can purchase a state-of-the-art juicer that promises to be 10% quieter than last year's model. He hasn't always been keen on juice, particularly this strange West Coast fad of juicing as a meal replacement; but he wouldn't refuse if someone offered him a glass.

He thinks back to that time in Olivia's apartment, where they shared a glass of orange juice. While he can't recall what case they were working on, he can still picture in vivid detail the way she pressed her lips to the glass and the way she sighed after the liquid coursed down her throat. She caught him staring, but neither one said a word.

"Excuse me." He hears a rustling through through the narrow aisles. "I'm sorry," says the same voice as they brush against the shoulder of a man who really should be occupying two seats. Across the aisle, a woman peeks her head out to get an eyeful of the last passenger. Everyone else cranes their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of the person they could blame for a ten-minute delay that, realistically, has more to do with the weather than anything else. But it isn't the mob curiosity that compels him to tear his eyes away from the glossy pages of the magazine; it's the sound of her voice.

"Liv."

It feels like he's stuck in a slow motion sequence in a movie. His surroundings shift out of focus except for that frazzled, olive-skinned brunette standing ten rows away. His ears block out all sounds of people talking, the soft cries of an infant, and the droning hum of the engine. He fixes his eyes on her like she's some mirage and he's been trudging deliriously along a desert for the last seven years. She looks different, yet the same – like a woman who never ages, but somehow appears wiser with experience. It's the glasses. It must be the glasses. Her chestnut brown hair is straight and cropped above her shoulders. It's different from the loose waves he had last seen her wear. Of course, that was ages ago. And if he knew anything about Olivia, it's that she changes her hair as often as he wishes he could change the past.

The last time he had seen her, she drove her black Mustang, which he had no idea she even still had, to drop off a box of things from his desk. He no longer had use for his stapler, a handful of paper clips, or stacks of empty yellow folders; but she came by anyway. They stood at his doorstep and never made any promises to meet again, so that permanent goodbye sort of just happened organically.

"23D, 23D," she repeats quietly to herself as she rolls her carry-on behind her, slowly approaching rows 20, 21, 22…

Elliot locks into her brown eyes with his stare, causing her to stop abruptly.

"Uh, hey, Liv," he says with a small wave. She doesn't respond. She's like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to move or blink or even breathe from the looks of it. He begins to stand, crouching his neck before sliding out to the narrow corridor. "Do you need help with your bag?"

"What?" She snaps out of her state of shock and shakes her head at his offered hand. Gripping the handle of her suitcase, she begins to lift it to the overhead compartment. "No. I got it."

He holds his hands up in mock surrender and stands back as she shuts the door with an audible thud. She looks down at her ticket then up at the embossed numbers and letters marking her seat. Down and then back up again. She begins to open her mouth in protest.

"23D, was it?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'm 23C."

* * *

It doesn't have to be awkward. They were partners for twelve years. They had been through more rides on the emotional rollercoaster than most married couples experienced in a lifetime. But time and distance have a way of dissolving all those memories. And mistakes have a way of standing under the harsh lights and shoving everything else behind the curtain.

No one wants to remember the good when the bad is too glaring.

Olivia rummages through the vortex of her purse, trying to appear as preoccupied as possible so she doesn't have to look him in the eye or, _god forbid_ , attempt small talk. When she finds her tangled earphones, she nearly rejoices.

"Excuse me," she calls the attention of a flight steward walking by. "I noticed a few empty seats toward the front of the plane. Would it be possible for me to sit somewhere else?"

"Ma'am, is there a problem?" He's young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, and with too much gel in his hair. His pasted smile fades slightly as he casts a wary look at Elliot.

"No. No. There isn't a problem," she answers, attempting to smooth it over. "He's fine," she adds, placing a hand on Elliot's arm. But before he can even look down and see firsthand that she touched him, she whips her hand away and places it flat on her lap.

"The captain advises our passengers to remain in their assigned seats until takeoff. It's for proper weight distribution of the aircraft," the flight steward explains politely. "However, you're welcome to switch seats once the seatbelt signs are turned off."

She nods. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

When she doesn't respond, Elliot gently nudges her by the elbow. "Oh! No. That would be all."

* * *

Elliot grips onto the edge of the armrests as they take off for New York. With the rain outside, he was almost certain they would be delayed; but the pilot mentioned something about how the winds weren't "bad enough" to be cause for alarm. So, while he had never had a fear of flying, the captain's choice of words had done nothing to reinforce his confidence.

Beside him, Olivia has earphones on as she swipes through pages on her iPad. He assumes she's reading a novel, curious to see if she still enjoys pretentious English literature. But as he glances over his shoulder, he realizes she's been poring over a comparative report on rape kit backlogs across the country.

He smiles to himself. He should've known.

"Olivia."

He doesn't want to spend the next five hours pretending they're strangers, when he owes her an explanation. He had imagined this moment for the last seven years, coming up with various scenarios where he would call or show up at her door. But he never prepared for a chance encounter; because what were the odds of running into her when he made every effort to avoid setting foot in Manhattan?

"Olivia, about my absence these last few years," he begins. "I'm sorry."

She pulls the buds from her ears and turns to look at him, her expression masked with nonchalance. "I'm sorry. Were you saying something?"

"I – I was apologizing for leaving."

She plasters on a fake smile, looking past him to check if other passengers were listening. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Ok then," Elliot resigns with a slow nod.

He decides to switch gears. If she doesn't want to talk about the elephant in the room, then he would have to try something else. The worst thing that could happen would be Olivia ignoring him. And how would that have been any different from his life as of late?

"So why were you in LA?"

"I was visiting a friend," she says tersely, leaving her answer too vague for his liking. She begins to press one of the buds into her ears, but decides against it. "And you? Why were you in LA?"

"Kathleen just got hired as a screenwriter for a production company," he says with fatherly pride. "We drove her car cross-country and I helped her move into her new apartment."

"Oh, wow… Kathleen. A writer?"

"Yeah. It took her a while to figure out what to do after college, but she took this class from this one professor, and claimed it changed her life. She's been working on her screenplays ever since."

Olivia smiles – the first one he sees in years. And while it warms his heart as it always has, there's a wave of sadness that crashes over him. He's missed seven years of those smiles and he only has himself to blame.

"It sounds like she's doing well for herself," she says.

"Right." He nods. "She's done well. Couldn't be more proud to have a kid so ambitious and career driven. Although, her mom keeps hounding her, asking her when she's going to settle down, get married, and have kids. But you know Kathleen… She might have her life together now, but she's still not gonna listen to her parents. You know, she actually uses you as an example of the strong, independent woman she aspires to be," he says, head tilting to the side as he watches the blush creep into Olivia's cheeks. "Just imagine how well that must go over with Kathy."

* * *

"You know, you're not supposed to be texting on the plane."

"It's over WiFi," Olivia replies coolly as she continues to tap away on her phone. A lengthy blue speech bubble appears on the screen, then she sighs impatiently as she waits for a response. "Besides, I'm pretty sure they've changed the rules."

"Have they? I guess I should pay closer attention next time." He pouts as he looks down at her phone. She notices his intrusion, turns off the screen, and gives him a hard look. He smiles sheepishly. "Who is it? Is it work?"

"No, it's my friend. I got called into a meeting and had to leave a couple days early, so he agreed to watch Noah for a while. At least until his mom can fly back with Noah on Tuesday," she begins to ramble, then adds, "Oh, by the way, Noah's my son."

"I heard," he says, smiling softly. "I know I'm a few years late, but congratulations. I remember how much you wanted a family, and I'm glad you finally have it. No one deserves it more."

Speechless, she stares at him for a moment before she breaks into a smile of her own.

"Do you have a picture?" he asks.

"Yeah." She slides through her gallery to show the most recent shot of Noah on her phone. It's from the past weekend; the little boy was dressed in suspenders, a bowtie, and a straw fedora. Reaching for his mama's phone with sand stuck to his pudgy fingers, he had a bright smile on his face and the sunset reflected back in his eyes.

"Those cheeks."

Olivia furrows her brows and twists her mouth into a frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He laughs quietly, careful not to wake any of the passengers sleeping through the redeye flight. "I meant to say, those are some seriously pinchable cheeks. The kid's adorable. He looks loved," he says, before he looks from the picture to Olivia sitting next to him. "And so do you."

* * *

One hour into their flight and it was as if they had talked about everything and nothing at the same time. Elliot had chipped away at Olivia's icy wall by asking questions about her four-year-old son. She couldn't resist beaming with pride as she told him about Noah. She couldn't help but admit how much it pained her to leave him in California for two days, but she knew she would feel even worse if she had cut his trip short and forced him into an overnight plane ride.

Elliot talked about his kids. From Maureen, who was married and expecting her second child, down to little Eli, who wasn't so little anymore. They exchanged stories of their children while leaving out the details of their own lives, like parents on playground benches often do.

It still seemed off-limits to talk about the elephant in the room, weighing down the plane and forcing that seatbelt sign to stay lit. He wondered if Olivia had forgotten to move in the brief period it had turned off, or if she had just decided against it.

"So this friend of yours in LA…" Elliot starts, trying to fish for information on the true status of their relationship. He tries to convince himself that he doesn't care if she's seeing someone else, but he secretly hopes she isn't. Not because he wants her to be alone and unhappy, but because he likes the possibility of a chance with her. Selfish as it is, it's the truth.

A knot forms between her brows. "What about him?"

"How'd you meet?"

Olivia chuckles softly, lashes fluttering over her eyes. "He's my old partner, Nick Amaro. Well, technically, he was the new old partner – the shinier model," she teases. She studies his reaction, and he wonders if she can still detect, even after all these years apart, when he was being an unnecessarily nosy detective. He mentally prepares himself to hear a speech about maintaining the boundaries of her personal life, but what he receives instead, he doesn't expect. "It's a shame you two never got to meet. I could see you two being the best of friends… That, or you would've ripped each other's heads off."

Elliot snorts a laugh. He doesn't want to give away too much in fear of being exposed. When he had heard through the grapevine about SVU hiring a new detective to be Olivia's new partner, he had done his own research. He wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do with the information he found, but he supposed he just needed the peace of mind. He needed to know Olivia was getting a partner she could trust; but he should've known Captain Cragen would have chosen only the best for her.

The kid still was no Elliot Stabler though.

He raises a shoulder and cocks his head to the side. "I've heard some things about him."

Olivia arches a brow, but doesn't ask any further questions. "Noah sees him on Skype and thinks that just because he's on screen, his Uncle Nick must know Jake and the Neverland Pirates. So, anyway, when the opportunity came, we hopped on a flight to go visit."

It hurts him, but he knows it's pain he has coming. He was her partner for twelve years and it had washed down the drain. Yet, here was her partner for four, and despite no longer working together, the man still continues to play an important role in her life and her son's.

To their family, he's Uncle Nick.

Elliot's just a stranger from her past.

"You and Nick seem close… Are you –"

"—What? No. We're friends," she says quickly before she breaks into a giggle. "Actually, the reason Noah and I flew down to LA was for his wedding. That's why Noah has the bowtie and suspenders on at the beach…" she trails off, trying to jog his memory. "The little guy was the ring bearer for the ceremony. Well, until he was halfway down the aisle, yelled "pillow fight!", and threw the pillow at me."

"Boys," Elliot laughs, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I remember when Eli was his age. During his Great Uncle Oscar's wake, he tried to climb into the casket because he thought it would make a great space ship."

Olivia laughs, eyes squinting and nearly in tears. For a split second, it feels like everything's new and innocent; like it's 1999 again.

* * *

The storm outside is raging, rocking the plane off its axis and forcing all the passengers to remain strapped in their seats. Beside him, Olivia wraps herself in a scarf the size of a picnic blanket. She keeps her fingers clenched on the armrests and her eyes tightly shut. As time passes, the turbulence only strengthens. People wake from sleep as their hips shift within their seats. He looks down at the metal bar separating them, noticing Olivia's white knuckles.

Elliot places his hand over hers, hoping to provide some comfort. Her skin is cool to the touch, her bones quivering with the rattling of metal around them. If he listens close enough, he swears he can hear her heart racing across her chest.

"Do you remember the last time we saw each other?" she asks, her eyes slowly opening to look at him.

He nods. "The day you dropped off my things at my house. I asked you to come in so we could talk, and you said no." She was hurting over his decision to leave the department. She hated him for not telling her directly; instead, she had to hear it from Cragen. He wished she had stayed and listened to him explain. But she claimed to be in a rush as she shoved the box in his hands and turned on her heel. He stopped her, grabbing her by the elbow to plead with her to stay.

And that was when she kissed him.

It caught him off guard, knocking him back a step so he had one foot in the house. It was like a metaphor – a married man catching feelings for a woman who wasn't his wife.

Her lips were soft and warm, her mouth tasted like coffee and something else he could only adequately describe as Olivia. She had never felt more real in his life; it was as if their twelve years of partnership had only been a figment of his imagination leading to an experience that was so tangible, so incarnate. He tried to deepen the kiss to quench that endless thirst he never knew he had until that very moment, but she pulled away, her chest heaving and eyes widening at her own actions.

"We kissed," he adds quietly.

"You remember that?"

"Liv, you think I'd forget what we shared?" he asked in disbelief. "I'll always remember how it felt to have your lips locked with mine."

"That kiss," she paused, "it was a mistake."

"It wasn't a mistake."

"I was distraught. You were leaving. I wasn't thinking clearly… You know, I thought I would never see you again… and for seven years, it turned out I was right."

"I'm sorry."

"Seven years, El…" she trails off, her voice breaking at his name. "Seven years since I last saw you… since that kiss, and you never called. I thought you were driving me away because of what I did. And so you know what I did? I kept my distance because I wanted to respect your decision and I didn't want to hurt you or your family." There are tears in her eyes but she tries her best to keep them at bay. All he wants is to reach across the metal bar separating their bodies, to pull her in an embrace and beg for her forgiveness. But he still can't dig through the mess he's made to find the courage to do that.

"For a while, I thought I was fine without you in my life. I thought I could move on. But then I was kidnapped and –" she swallows hard, lowering her head, afraid to meet his eyes. "I just wish you had been there for me."

"I'm sorry," he pleads. "I know there's nothing I can say for you to forgive me, but I want you to know that I regret it. Every fucking day, Liv, I beat myself up for not being there to save you, to support you, to be whatever you needed me to be…" He rubs the exhaustion from his face before he leans closer, cupping her jaw with his thumb and forefinger. "That time you were taken, I was just beginning to heal from the shooting… from my divorce..." He watches as Olivia's lips part in surprise, her mouth beginning to send sympathy for what should have happened over a decade ago. But he stops her. "A year after I retired from the force, Kathy realized it wasn't the job that ruined our marriage. And I know using the divorce is a terrible excuse to explain my absence, but I was a coward. I still am. God, if I hadn't run into you in this plane, I would still be hiding."

Elliot feels his own words pick away at the scabs of his wounds. The truth is he believed he didn't deserve to be happy after he took the life of a child. Even when he knew he was doing his job and defending his squad, he still felt an overwhelming guilt that drove him to a deep depression.

Doctors called it PTSD but it took him years before he listened to anything they had to say.

He convinced himself he was only capable of hurting people so he distanced himself from anything and anyone that could tie back to that event. And that's why he left law enforcement for good, and that's why he left Olivia. He believed that isolating himself would mean he would never have the opportunity to screw things up or fail people in that capacity. It took him years to realize that he had done more damage by leaving, instead of swallowing his pride and seeking help from the one person who would have never abandoned him.

But that thought no longer held true.

"I want to stop wondering what life would be like if I had been honest from the beginning," he tells her. "I want to stop wondering what it would be like to be happy. I just want to be happy again… with you, this time."

"El, you can't do this." Her voice is begging, a single tear trickling down her face. "So much has changed since you left. You can't just take advantage of this accidental encounter and pull me back into your life."

"Why not?" he protests. "Why can't I take a chance from a coincidence? Sure, I don't believe in all this fate, destiny bullshit, but I do believe that I love you. I'm sorry that I have a fucked up way of showing it; but, Liv, I've always loved you."

"And so have I," she whispers. "But I've learned to let it go."

* * *

His legs stretch under him and the soles of his shoes plant on the buffed stone tiles of JFK's terminal. It's a good feeling to be back on solid ground, he thinks to himself.

They departed the plane with no worded goodbyes and no promises to meet again. Just like last time. And he wonders if the next time they'd see each other again would be in another seven years.

He decides he can't live with that.

The sliding glass doors open as he rushes out with his bag in hand. He passes boarding gates and signs lit with flight departure and arrival times. Looking down the long hallway, he watches as Olivia's silhouette recedes further and further from his grasp. He continues on, running as fast as his weary legs can take him until, finally, he reaches her.

"Liv," he gasps breathlessly. "Wait."

She turns around, sadness swimming in the warm, brown depths of her eyes.

"I know you said you let it go. And you probably want to tell me I blew it… I have no chance with you. I understand; although, I respectfully disagree," he says between breaths. His mouth quirks into a small smirk, hoping it would lighten the mood. "But I'd kick myself all the way back to Queens if I didn't at least try to win back your friendship. So, what do you say?"

"Ok."

"Ok?"

She narrows her eyes. "Yes, that's what I said."

"Great! How about dinner tomorrow night?" Elliot asks eagerly.

She shakes her head. "That sounds like a date. And I can't do tomorrow night. I have this meeting in the morning, paperwork all day, and then a conference in the evening."

"Right. The life of a lieutenant. Gotcha," he says with a teasing smile. "How about breakfast then?"

She shrugs, unsure of what to say about his offer. But she considers it, and that's all he can hope for.

He scans through the nearly empty terminal until his eyes fall upon a restaurant decorated like a 1950s dinner. "Look, that place is open."

"Wait, you mean now?"

"Yeah, unless you have somewhere to be at four in the morning. I thought you never slept. I though Olivia Benson only ran on caffeine and rancid kale smoothies."

She lightly jabbed him on the chest.

"We got seven years to catch up on, and I'd like to start as soon as I can… _If_ you're ok with that?"

"Fine," Olivia agrees with a huff, but there's a hint of a smile in her eyes. "But you're buying."

He grins as they walk side by side, his shoulder playfully bumping into hers. "Two eggs over easy, hashbrowns and toast?"

She bumps him back. "You still got it, El."


End file.
